Untitled Chronicles: Clove
by Vivique
Summary: It wasn't just Katniss Everdeen that deserved to have her story told. Quick as a fiddle, smart as a whip, Clove had been training for the Hunger Games her entire life and she intended to be the last one standing. She would be wearing the Victor's crown.


_Hello all, hope you're doing well. _

_Having read the Hunger Games trilogy and basking in the glory of it all, I decided to contribute to the ever-growing population that is the Hunger Games fanfiction. I finished the trilogy wanting to know more about the stories of other characters and having found absolutely nothing, I resorted to my imagination. Clove is a character I would have loved to seen a story on._

_I hope you all enjoy what is my take on Clove's story. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ The Hunger Games does not belong to me, but to Suzanne Collins. Any resemblance to any persons in real life is purely coincidental._

* * *

**Untitled Chronicles: Clove**

**Chapter One: Soldier**

I wake up to find it still dark. The sun had not yet risen, the dawn not yet broken. Throwing my blankets off my body, I slide my legs out so that I'm sitting on the side of my bed. The whole dormitory is quiet, not a single one awake. This is the day of the Reaping, the day of the Volunteering.

Whether by being drawn from the glass ball stuffed full of names by the whimsical Trixie Moffat or by winning the right to Volunteer, I will be going to the Capitol. Rarely does the winner of the Reaping end up in the Arena in District 2. Most of the time, it's the terrified kids from town that get pulled from the glass ball. Tch, it's absurd that the honour of winning the Reaping goes to the trembling, prissy kids.

Not that they had anything to worry about. The Academy was full of ready Volunteers. Rarely did the winner of the Reaping end up in the Arena.

I pull on my uniform - grey pants, fitted dark red shirt - and pull on my black training boots. I put my dark hair into a high ponytail. Sitting on my dresser is my knife, _Shiva._

She's beautifully crafted, sharp and the perfect balance. Most of the kids here at the Academy don't have their own token weapon, simply because they haven't earned one. The Academy rewards the top specialists with a weapon of their own and since my specialty is knives, they had one made to my specific requests. Like others, I had given mine a name.

The blade smith who made it questioned my choice of name for my knife.

"Shiva. Odd name for a knife isn't it? A knife isn't exactly kind." he mused as he handed me the case.

"But it will be gracious. Especially if it's me who's slicing their throats with it." I reply softly, the corner of my lips curling into a smirk.

"I wouldn't expect any less of you."

If only the token I could bring to the Arena was _Shiva_.

* * *

In the weeks before the Reaping, the Academy had asked for a list of names of those planning to Volunteer. The minimum age was 16. The other kids had been whispering about who was Volunteering and who was likely to be Chosen. They had speculated that it would be either Marius or Cato for the boys. They were both Soldiers in the age level above me. Marius excelled at using flails. His own one was named _Marauder_. While he possessed enormous strength, he was large and a little slow - physically and mentally. So while he could probably take on the bloodbath at the Cornucopia (and most likely be the only one standing at the end of it), he would be left without allies or knowledge on how to survive. Cato's weapon of choice was the claymore, aptly named _Nero_. While still as strong as Marius, he was better built for survival in the Arena.

As for the girls, the money was on Varinia and Hermia. They were both 18, of above average intelligence and both built strong as dictated by their specialty weapons. Varinia liked whips and Hermia brass knuckles. As skilled as they were with their respective weapons, I scoff when I imagine Varinia trying to kill someone with a whip (if the Gamemakers were benevolent enough to provide her with one). It might be her twisted idea of pleasure (or even sexual pleasure), but it would take too long to get kills. And as for Hermia, a flick of my wrist and she would be lying face down in the dirt.

I know what the kids say about me. That when I volunteer at age 18, there was no way I wouldn't get it, like I'm some kind of prodigy. But my name is on that Volunteer List, and I intend on being crowned Victor of the 74th Hunger Games. They're a pack of dumb kids anyway, almost like sheep.

It amazes me how some of them even came to attend an institution like the Academy. Anyone from the ages 5 and up is eligible for admittance. Those who ran the selective examinations had an eye for dangerous talents and unquenchable thirst for blood. Having stolen knowledge of the Academy Soldiers, in scribbled cursive, under my name was "showing the most promise and talent of the bunch in S.E".

I spend the morning leisurely throwing training knives at dummies before the Volunteering. Unfortunately the Academy doesn't allow human dummies. I guess they want as many possible Volunteers for the Reapings. Once I suggested that we use Avoxes for practice. They were condemned to die sooner or later and I was sure that the Capitol would be more than happy to send a few. It's not difficult to find crimes to condemn those in the lower districts of Ten, Eleven and Twelve. The Trainer shook his head.

"As much as that is true, Clove, it's best you save your blood lust for the Arena."

Disappointed, I threw my knives into the dummy out of frustration. Practicing with dummies was barely satisfying. It would take a full day of lodging knives into dummies before I could be satisfied. It wasn't until the Trainer let us use the dummies with fake blood that I really started to feel alive (ironically enough). Even as satisfying the blood spurting dummies were, I wanted more. I wanted to see the fear, feel and see the tremble of my victims before the knife meets them - in the chest, eye, temple or wherever I can so that their heart stops pumping.

Just as well. The Academy wanted to fuel us with this lust for victims for the Arena.

* * *

Two hours before the Volunteering, someone joins me in the Training Room. It's Cato.

Over the years, we've exchanged few words. We've mostly exchanged blows. I would have like to leave a few scars on his body - as a memento of our spars - but using our weapons in spars was strictly prohibited. Instead they provided us with hard plastic alternatives, still weighed in our hands the same as the real deal, but without the deadliness. Again, they didn't want anyone from their small pool of Volunteers to die. They did however; produce some very nasty bruises and a few welts. Cato had managed to get me a handful of times in the stomach with his plastic sword. I was still recovering from a bruise that resulted in Cato "slicing" me on my upper arm. For him, I managed to get a few round bruises over the years. Mostly from me throwing my plastic knives. How I wish one of them would stick.

"What do you think my chances of getting to go into the Arena this year?" his question accented with his snobbish arrogance and accompanied by a smirk.

"Highly probable." I answer as I stick a knife into a dummy's head. I was rewarded with a satisfying spurt of fake blood. "Although I'm sure a lot of the stupid girls are going to miss your ever gracious presence."

That last line came out dripping with sarcasm.

Cato was undoubtedly attractive. Tall, blonde, well built, handsome face. What someone would look for in a sexual partner. A voice that sounded like it was laced with poison and honey. Or at least that's what I overhead from one of the girls quacking about him. He had no shortage of admirers in the Academy. In fact, he makes _full use_ of it. No wonder he walks around in that arrogant manner. While he's no Finnick Odair, if he were to make it to the arena, he would have no shortages of admirers there.

He 'hn'ed at me before walking over to a dummy and decapitating it with _Nero_.

I frowned a little at his use of _Nero_. _Shiva_ sat in her wooden box, the blade still virgin. I wanted to save it for something special. What that something was, I didn't know. Cato threw _Nero_ around like she was nothing. Although I hate using swords, big and clumsy in my small quick fingers as they were, I know that _Nero_ is a masterpiece.

"Still virgin?" I had been so absorbed in watching _Nero_ that I wasn't aware that Cato had said anything.

"What?" I glare at him, promising to cut off a part of him he (and many others) would sorely miss if he dared venture into what I thought he was going to.

"I meant _Shiva." _he said, bemused at catching me unawares.

"Oh. Yeah, still virgin."

"You better use her on something, Clove. It's a waste." He smirks at me. The innuendo is not lost.

"Like what?" I reply, sticking another knife into the dummy. My lip curls into a half smile. The idea of using _Shiva_ on Cato gave me tingles. Cato underneath me, helpless with _Shiva_ pressed against his throat. Her first cut would be on the area between his pectorals and throat. And it would be my mark. The idea of it excites me, but when would I ever get the chance to do that?

He shrugs.

The sound of knives finding their targets, dummies losing their heads and _Nero_ slashing around out of control disperse the silence before Cato does.

"When are you Volunteering?"

I look at my training knives thoughtfully. "This year."

I caught the fleeting shock on his face before his usual smug grin took over once more.

"Well, you'll have to get past Hermia and Varinia. You know, _they_ say that they're favoured to win the Volunteering. Besides, why not just wait till next year or something?"

"Why not Volunteer this year?" I shoot back at him.

He shrugs and stabs a dummy's head with the point of _Nero _and leaves. He mutters something as he leaves. I only catch a few words - "back to back" being one of them.

I don't care who ends up in the Arena with me, Marius or Cato, because it's me who is going to wear the crown of the Victor.

* * *

_I hope it was something different for you! _


End file.
